Adventures in authorial brevity
by ILM
Summary: My responses to a comment fic meme over at Livejournal - a touch of everything from humour to angst.
1. Brennan v the Rollercoaster

So, over at Livejournal some very nice people are holding a comment fic meme. Don't ask me to define it, just check it out! I headed over out of curiosity after withthevampsofcourse mentioned it (I think the link is on her profile). I hold them responsible for these snippets...

**Disclaimer: I just answer the prompts, honest - if I owned them I wouldn't be quite so concerned about my bills!**

* * *

(response to prompt Brennan/Angela, rollercoaster)

"Just remember, this was your idea."

She laughs. "Speed is exhilarating. Everyone needs to feel the adrenaline of mock danger sometimes."

"Yeah, right," her unconvinced friend mutters from behind. "And you're sure this isn't just proving a point?"

"No!" she answers too quickly. "No, certainly not. I merely feel that it's appropriate to experience new, um..."

"Experiences?" Angela volunteers dryly.

"Yes. Exactly. Now, are you coming with me?"

As Angela follows her into the queue, Brennan stares up at the structure looming above her. In the semi-dark, it looks like it isn't quite connected. Her imagination pushes forward an image of broken track and she firmly files it behind a more incentivising image of Smug Booth.

Smug Booth quite likes that she isn't entirely, well, _rational_, about rickety carts hurtling across slippery track at speeds and heights that combine perfectly to induce fear in humans.

"You know, there's no shame in not being a big fan of fairground rides. It isn't going to damage your professional standing."

She's sure she can hear a slight snigger behind Angela's words. Angela, of course, sees nothing unnatural in the whole hurtling carts experience.

"I'm aware of that. However, I do feel that, in this case, it might be necessary to undertake a task that doesn't instantly appeal in order to acquire a long-term benefit."

"You mean you're doing it so Booth doesn't spend the next three months winding you up about it?" Angela translates, not even bothering to hide the snort of laughter this time.

She sighs and rapidly predicts the next three minutes of the conversation before recognising that she might as well concede now. "You have no idea how irritating he can be with something like this," she admits.

Angela stifles another giggle. "Couldn't you just tell him you'd been on it?"

She bites her lip, her gaze shifting to the floor.

"Ohhh, you mean you already tried that?"

"It appears that I am less than proficient in supplying convincing falsehoods." She frowns. "I'm not sure why. I concocted a perfectly reasonable account with enough detail to be entertaining but not so much as to be overdramatic."

"He can spot a liar at a distance of about fifty paces, honey," Angela reminds her. "I wouldn't feel too bad about it."

"Well, anyway, hence my presence here. I have to go through with this in order to shut him up."

Angela shakes her head disbelievingly. "You'd think I'd be used to you two by now. And yet you still never fail to amuse me."

They hand their tokens to the ride operator and head for the next pair of seats, one pair of feet dragging out the few steps slightly until a hand pulls their owner into the seat.

"Close your eyes. It'll all be over in about two minutes," Angela instructs, pulling the bar across them.

Brennan nods, shuffling slightly in a futile attempt to get comfortable.

"Ange?" she ventures, as the safety bars lock into place and the mechanism starts whirring.

"Hmm?"

"Can I hold your hand?"

* * *

**Yes, brevity - a whole new thing from me! And back to the one-shots too, which is no doubt mightily relieving for those of you waiting on updates for 'Past Futures' and 'Rekindling'...**


	2. Unhinge my soul

**A spot of resolved angst for people who want to throw coconuts at my head over 'Rekindling'...**

* * *

(Based on this quote: "You know that when I hate you, it is because I love you to a point of passion that unhinges my soul." (Julie de Lespinasse))

"It's not supposed to be this hard!" she flings at him accusatorily, her eyes darkening dangerously.

He recognises the signs and doesn't care any more. "Of course it's supposed to be this hard! It's the difficulty that makes you appreciate how much it's worth when it's easy!"

"Oh, don't start that again," she sneers, viciously. "I'm a pretty clever person, I think I'm capable of assessing something's worth without a comparison!"

"Well, for a pretty clever person, you can be incredibly dense!" He know he's shouting and something in him still cares – not enough to lower his voice, though. "I can't believe what you make me do sometimes!"

"Me?! I don't make you do anything," she hisses. "I'm not the manipulative one in this relationship! I'm not the one who wants it all to be perfect, hearts and flowers or whatever it is you call it. I'm the realist!"

"You're the fool!" he fires back instantly, feeling his face heat up. "Can't you see that wanting it to be perfect is just because it's so damn important?! It's not just ime/i that I want it to be perfect for!"

"It's hardly perfect now," she spits back, advancing from the safety of the other side of her desk. "I don't even know what it iis/i now – it's turning me into someone I barely recognise."

"It's turning you into the person you've always been underneath all the protective wrapping," he exclaims, frustrated. "Just because you can't control it doesn't mean it isn't good for you!"

"I ican/i control it! I can always control it," she mutters fiercely, starting to pace the floor of her office.

He stares out across the darkened lab, wondering how many late-stayers are overhearing. "You don't have to control it, don't you see? That's the whole point. There's nothing you have to control for me." He consciously calms his tone, straightening his back to loosen the tension gathered in his spine.

"All the control is for you," she blurts out, immediately turning away from him.

He knows she is blushing from the way she swings her hair forward over her face.

He dares to touch her now; a simple hand on the shoulder, a gentle squeeze that reminds her that he has just as much invested in this.

"There's nothing you have to control for me," he repeats, softly, moving closer until he can wrap his other arm around her waist.

"This is what happens when I don't stay in control," she breathes regretfully. "When I even think about how much I need you – how much I love you – it spirals away from me and I hate you for that."

"But isn't that exhilarating? The idea that something can matter so much that nothing can encompass it?" he murmurs into her hair, his hand creeping under her shirt to caress her stomach, hot skin sliding like the brush of silk.

She shudders in disbelieving laughter. "Exhilarating? No, petrifying. I have no concept of my life without you."

Both arms tighten around her as he whispers, "You don't need a concept of a life without me. That passion – that fervour that unhinges you – that's in me too. And you never have to worry that I don't understand when it all boils over – because I feel it too, that fear that something is out of my control now."

"Sometimes I despise you," she mumbles, ashamed.

"It's only because you love me more than you know how to absorb at the moment. In a few months, it will all seems normal."

"How can you say that?"

He laughs quietly against the side of her neck. "Because I dealt with all this a long time ago, Bones. And I didn't have you to help me."

She is silent for a moment, then he feels her nod slowly. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay." He turns her to face him and strokes her hair back from her flushed cheeks.

She smiles slightly. "I think I might have a relationship that lasts beyond the first fight," she says softly.

His expression is a calmer shadow of the teasing grin he normally wears. "I think you might have a relationship that lasts beyond a lot more fights than one."

* * *

**See, I can do happy endings, honest!**


	3. First Date Anticipation

**And this might be my last reponse to a prompt - not so much time for writing these days. :-(**

* * *

(In response to B/B, first date; more of a pre-date than a date, but if I'd carried on it would have been a novella!)

_Not too smart_, he'd said to her.

Except now she isn't sure what he meant.

She surveys the outfits hanging before her and wonders when she became such a... Well, such a _girl_. She's sure that before she met him she didn't think twice about dressing for a date.

_Maybe those dates were never as important_, a little voice in the back of her mind pipes up.

She has spent today veering between fearful anticipation and sternly telling herself that this shouldn't be important either. They are the same people, with the same thoughts, the same reactions, the same feelings as yesterday.

Anticipation is all she feels now. This _is_ important - and not just to him, she acknowledges. Yes, he is always the one who wants to 'do things right' - but this time, for reasons she dare not fully contemplate, she knows that it needs to be right for her, too.

After all, this is the story they will tell. That first-date story that always triggers secret smiles and unspoken nostalgia, no matter how long any couple has been together.

Her phone beeps and she smiles as she reads her message.

_When I said not too smart I didn't mean we were going rock-climbing or anything. See you soon x_

She tries so hard not to read anything into the sign-off but knows from the start that she will fail completely. He's been doing that for the past week or so, signing his texts with a kiss, and she knows it's because he's trying to lure her into it gently, this next step they are taking. It's still tentative - still scary - but he doesn't seem to have realised that she wants it just as much as he does.

She texts him back - _I'd beat you at rock-climbing anyway_ - and after only a minor hesitation adds her own kiss, a strange feeling of exhilaration flowing through her. She missed all that teenage excitement, carefully protected by a screen of cynicism and mistrust, so now it feels as if this isn't just her first date with Booth but her first date with anyone.

She picks the green dress she tried on first and quickly puts the others away before she can change her mind. The war going on inside her doesn't seem any closer to a truce: she hates the idea that she wants to 'look pretty' for him, but at the same time she can't ignore the imperative. She wants him to want her.

When the buzzer rings, she is ready, her knee bouncing as she sits with her bag next to her and her coat on her lap. The determination not to be late has meant she was ready ten minutes early. Ten minutes with no distractions has made her brain go haywire like she didn't believe was possible an hour ago.

_Where are we going? Why did I let him dictate terms? Will I need my thicker coat? Is he going to be late? Is he going to be different? How do I make it clear that this isn't just one of our usual dinners together? Is he going to kiss me?_

_'Is he going to kiss me?' What kind of inexperienced teenager do I sound like?_

She is still chastising herself as she opens the door for him.

Because if this is the story they will be telling for a long time, then he had better kiss her. If he doesn't, she's going to kiss him - and he won't want to have to tell _that_ story.

* * *

**I really can see them getting competitive over their first 'proper' kiss...**

**Now, if anyone is holding the inspiration needed to finish my two multi-chapter fics, could they release it? I have no money to pay a ransom...**


	4. In the Closet

**So mild I'm not convinced it's an M, but I played safe! I couldn't resist this prompt - it pretty much wrote itself...**

* * *

(prompted by Brennan locks herself in a small room/closet of the Jeffersonian by accident)

She stands underneath the window; the light is fading now, the setting sun mocking her predicament.

Her phone beeps.

_Where are you? Tried calling and it's just going to voicemail._

She frowns, studying the screen. A few moments ago there was no signal. It's tempting to laugh at herself as she waves her arm around, trying to get the display to show at least one bar. Her arm is over her head when it suddenly appears.

_Well, maybe one bar will be enough_, she reasons, hitting a familiar speed dial and turning the speaker on.

The dialling tone turns to crackling and she thinks she can hear a faint voice repeating 'Hello?' in a bemused tone, but shouting back appears to have little effect.

She sighs. This is not what she intended to be doing with her afternoon.

With her arm over her head, she hits keys viciously.

_Slight problem. Stuck in store cupboard on lower floor of Jeffersonian._

She watches the little envelope on the screen speeding away into the ether and releases the breath she didn't realise she was holding. It only takes a few seconds for an answering beep to come.

_How did you manage that?_

She stares at the phone in disbelief.

_How do you think?! I came in here and the door jammed! It's not because I thought it would be a fun afternoon!_

She can picture him sniggering behind his desk, no doubt wondering how he can make this work to his advantage. She won't be hearing the last of this for a few weeks.

_You'll have to be nicer to me if you want me to help. I take it you DO want me to help?_

Infuriating man.

_No, I want you to sit and consider the fact that I'm locked in a cupboard and do nothing about it. OF COURSE I WANT YOU TO HELP!_

She lowers her aching arm slightly, hoping his reply will come through if she stays by the window.

_Now, shouting won't get you anywhere, will it? I'm coming over._

Oh no. That isn't what she wants at all. The last thing he needs is imagery to accompany the story.

_NO! I'll get Angela to come and help me, don't worry. If I can text you, I can text her._

She is halfway through an elaborate message to Angela explaining her situation when his reply interrupts her.

_You could try, but she's at that training day you sent her on. Next time you should be less concerned with staff development. I'm on my way._

_Oh crap_, her mind chimes in, even as she is still trying to remember what possessed her to send Angela on any kind of training. She has a vague memory of her friend protesting. _Booth is going to call this karma._

Her raised arm is protesting violently. She sits beneath the window, half hoping her signal will disappear.

_Is there any way we can agree not to mention this again?_

She is already mentally scrolling through the catalogue of his misdemeanours in search of an equivalent tale she can agree to conveniently forget.

_I don't believe there is anything you can promise me that will be worth me giving up this story. The interns will be paying me to repeat it._

She suspects nothing will stop him – even if he agrees to a compromise now she'll still find him regaling her staff with the story when he thinks she isn't around. It will have to be a new tactic: bribery.

_If you promise not to tell I'll strip for you_.

This response comes even more quickly than his first.

_What?!_

She smiles. Now he won't be so smug, sat in his car with his imagination running at full pelt. He really shouldn't text and drive.

_Slowly and agonisingly. One little bit at a time. And if you're really good I'll let you touch. When I'm finished, of course._

His reply takes a little longer this time. She wonders whether he's picturing her in the blue lace he bought for her birthday.

_Will you stop texting me about this now if I agree not to wind you up about the whole cupboard thing? (And then you have to actually strip for me. It's part of the deal.)_

She's grown to appreciate the triumph of payback over the last few years.

_Oh dear, Booth. Are you imagining me naked? Is it arousing you? You really shouldn't drive with an erection, you can't possibly be focused._

He's probably having to wait for lights before he can respond, she thinks to herself with a smile. She knows he'll make her pay for this later – but she suspects it will be the kind of payment she'll be more than willing to give.

_STOP IT‼‼_

It's a brief reply, but one that tells her just how much she's got to him. If she'd known his imagination worked so well with one little trigger, she'd have spent more time provoking it before they were together.

_Nooo, I don't think I will. You like the thought, don't you? Me taking my clothes off slowly, just for you. Maybe I won't let you touch. Maybe I'll touch myself instead. Who knew you were such a masochist?_

She glances at her watch. He must be nearly here by now; it's only a matter of minutes between their two workplaces. She can visualise him pulling into the car park, no doubt checking that no evidence remains of their exchange. He'll be as brisk with the security desk as he always is – they think he's a man with affairs of state on his mind – and will probably poke his head round the door of her office to ensure she isn't just teasing.

The heavy banging on the door makes her startle.

"Bones! Are you in there?"

"I'm here," she calls back, scrambling to her feet as he throws his weight against the door three times before it even starts to budge. "Will you stop that, you'll hurt yourself!"

"Well, if you pulled it from your side that might help!" he retorts irately, trying again.

"Or you could just get security to help!" she shouts, even as she moves to do as he says.

The door gives at the fifth attempt, throwing her backwards onto a pile of old documents. He bursts in and yanks her to her feet.

"You incredibly irritating, evil woman," he mutters, belying his words by pulling her against him and bending his head to nibble at the collarbone. He discovered two nights ago that it made her whimper and hasn't stopped taking his opportunities since.

"I was bored," she laughed, tilting her head back and threading her fingers through his hair. "And thank you for coming to let me out."

"Only because if I left you in here you'd still be sending me those damn messages," he grinds out next to her ear, his hands sliding under the back of her shirt. "How many people come down here, anyway?"

She shrugs, distracted by his hot fingers tracing patterns over her skin. "Not many. I never see anyone else down here."

"Good." He prods the door shut with his foot so that it sticks a little but doesn't engage completely.

"Booth, that door just stuck," she starts to object, only to be silenced as he pushes her against the wall and kisses her like they haven't only been apart since this morning.

"If it sticks this time, I promise you won't be bored," he purrs in her ear. "And besides, you owe me a strip show."

* * *

**I was tempted to continue but I'd already gone way over what I intended and I'm not sure I can pull off smut-in-closet...**


End file.
